


Reprieve

by ajremix



Category: The Flash (Comics), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:05:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajremix/pseuds/ajremix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Rogues' Revenge 3 before confronting Inertia.  Len and Mick get a moment to deal with some tension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> Had a hankering for some pre-52 ColdWave. All I wanted was them talking in the aftermath of Mick being asked to kill Len’s dad. Instead there’s a whole lot of words and next to no talking.

Despite Len’s promise to be quick, vengeance wasn’t going to be had that night. Between that damn prison planet and the fights since, no one wanted to tangle with a speedster just yet. The only one in halfway decent shape was the kid and his head was still ringing from getting knocked around by a temperamental Mark. McCulloch did a quick food- and booze -run and nibbled on a couple things before passing out in the most relatively dry space available. Mark had swiped a case of beer, trying to drown out memories of his brother and the kid, for once, was trying not to be a nuisance.

That just left him and Mick. How unsurprising.

Mick found him nursing a beer- only Len’s second for the entire evening -while watching over the equipment. They’d turned it all on just to ensure that it was in working order and kept it off after. No one may have expected them to return to the observatory but that didn’t mean they wanted to risk raising anyone’s curiosity at its sudden energy consumption. Armed with his own beer, Mick sat by Len at the rickety table, his cowl and goggles off for once. Mick wore his suit like a security blanket, liked the stifling heat of it. Len never gave it comment- there were worse habits to have.

“You doing okay?” Mick eventually asked. Len shrugged.

“Well enough.” He was actually annoyed at how little he felt. Wondered if he’d be feeling more if he had killed his old man himself. “What about you?”

“Fine.” Mick held Len’s pointed, sideways look. “Wasn’t my father, he was nothing to me. Just another guy that deserved to be burned.”

He hid a sneer into another gulp of beer. He’d been worried about inadvertently triggering Mick’s memories of his family but that didn’t mean he wanted to be so transparent about it. The silence that lapsed between them was a tense one. In the time since Mick’s return to the Rogues he’d managed to figure out his footing in relation to Mark and McCulloch but every now and again things between him and Len felt… charged in a way it hadn’t before.

Eventually Mick asked, “Why did you ask me? Mardon and McCulloch, they would’ve done it.”

“Asked for the same reason you’re here.” Because Len could depend on him. Because Len missed him. “Because I trust you. Dillon said he didn’t know if he fixed you right. Don’t know if he was talking about fucking or un-fucking your head. He never got you. But I do.”

Mick gave a small huff, lips pulling in a tiny smile. “I hated you. He took away all the good stuff between us, left me only with the bad. Guess it was the only way he knew how to keep me off the Rogues.”

It went beyond hate. Mick had threatened to burn the entire city down just to get to Len. Dillon didn’t understand Mick’s problem. He obsessed. Anything he cared about in any capacity he held deep in the core of him. It’s what made him an effective Rogue- watching everyone’s backs, pushing the boundaries of his skill and knowledge -and it fed into his sickness. Nothing held Mick’s attention as captive as fire, but by making Mick hate him, Dillon had turned Len into the next best thing.

Thing was Mick’s obsession with him hadn’t entirely left. Len wondered if that was Dillon’s fault or if maybe it had always been there and he hadn’t noticed it before.

“You remember now?”

“I remember.” And when Mick looked at him, the want in his eyes was electric.

Len was more than aware of Mick’s history both before and during his reformation attempt and it was probably wrong but Len took a certain measure of pride knowing that all of Mick’s ventures failed. No one- not Zhutanian monks, not Cadmus eggheads, not even James Jesse -could keep Mick focused like Len could. Part of it was likely owed to this… whatever it was between them.

Len wouldn’t actively admit it but he knew. He knew he was more patient, more tolerant with Mick than the others and it wasn’t just because he had a legitimate sickness compared to the rest of them. And if they had anything to say about Len treating Mick with restraint while anyone else would’ve gotten a fist, well, they were smart enough never to bring it up. Really it was only a matter of time before the kid figured it out and opened his big mouth about it.

But Len led and Mick listened, Mick relapsed and Len re-focused him and it worked because, pushed back deep in the furthest, most secret pocket of his heart, Len liked being needed. Not for the power of it, but because it made him feel like he mattered. If some shrink ever found out they’d probably bleat out how wrong and unbalanced it was, that Len was being manipulative and yeah, he’d admit that at least to himself but he knew Mick was just as aware of it as he was. Mick had always been one of the most self-aware people Len had ever met and he made no moves to stop this. If this thing of theirs was unhealthy, they were both willing to stick with it anyway. They were unconventional and messed up but they made this thing work for them.

Len would bet the other Rogues suspected. Trickster- the first one -was always perceptive and Sam and Mark had to have been around long enough to put things together. The only one that likely actually knew was Piper who could hear damn near anything going on in the same building no matter how careful you were. He gave them looks every once in a while but never said anything and for that alone Len was grateful. He had no interest in making statements or political stands and the Rogues caused enough trouble as it was that Len didn’t want to give bigots an excuse to cause him more.

He didn’t want to admit he was partially ashamed. Too many people in Len’s life shaped his thoughts on too many things before he was smart enough to stop them and by then it was too late. What was between him and Mick wouldn’t have worked with any sort of sweetness anyway. Len wouldn’t have been able to deal with it. So things were always fast and hard and dirty between them and Mick was always pliable and accepting of it though Len could never puzzle out why. Mick didn’t like men. Not even during long stints in jail before the Rogues started making a habit of breaking each other out, Mick never sought satisfaction in them. In all honesty Len preferred women just for the ease of it, of women like Angie who wouldn’t question when a night ended with simple companionship rather than sex so long as she got paid. For men, on the occasion the itch got too bad for him to ignore, Len would strip himself of colors and gear- nothing that could attach him to his moniker -and would go out to some no-hero, no-name city to deal with it.

Those random men did what he wanted, quelled the urge but none of them did what Mick could. They never made Len’s heart race, never made his skin prickle with hyper-awareness, never made him want to just stare into their eyes, remembering how deep, how brown they were without the green wash of goggles constantly hiding them. He didn’t care about them, didn’t think of them when they weren’t around. Len trusted very few people the way he trusted Mick.

He pushed Mick’s cowl back further, until he had to part the material to reveal his neck, his collarbones, broad shoulders and powerful chest so Len could skim his teeth over bared skin, sensitive to sensations other than his suit. He smelled like heat and sweat and ash and Len licked it up until Mick was trembling under him. Their hands fumbled with buckles and clasps, their gear hitting the floor in muffled thumps and at the very edges of thought Len hoped no one would come investigate. Especially not the kid. He had potential- was actually listening to the lessons McCulloch and Mark were imparting to him, Len would rather not have to shatter the brat because he couldn’t figure out certain things were best left unmentioned.

A hand carded through Len’s hair, he could feel long nails against his scalp and one large hand was at the small of his back, coaxing Len closer until he was straddling Mick’s lap, until his twitching, hardening dick was pressing into Mick’s stomach. Mick breathed out, “Fuck, I missed this,” right before catching Len’s lips with his.

That was the most either of them ever talked about this. Anything more and it would make it something real. Something with a name and neither were prepared to face the consequences of it. Mick’s hands dove beneath Len’s parka, pushing it up until Len complied in pulling it, and his visor, off. With that out of the way, those hands dove under the sweat-damp shirt Len wore under it, the feeling of hot, wide palms against his back made Len suck in a breath, grinding down onto Mick’s erection.

For a moment Len wanted nothing more than to rock into Mick until they both came in their pants. Hell, their clothes were already a write-off, no one would be able to tell. On the other hand they were also going to be the only things available to wear for the near future so making even more of a mess out of them wouldn’t make much sense. He ripped open Mick’s suit, peeling it back where it stuck to skin and damn but if that picture didn’t haunt Len’s fantasies on more than one occasion. Mick, half hanging out of his suit with that thick, beautiful cock standing up out of it like a prize.

His mouth watered without his intending it to. They had never gone beyond hands and friction. Once, when they were younger, when this thing between them was newer and they were drunk off liquor and beating the Flash, Mick had let him fuck into the tight space between his thighs. It had been so damn good but so intimate that Len hadn’t been able to work with Mick for the better part of a month. It took even longer before he had the control to touch Mick again.

Mick’s hand caught him by the back of the neck, pulling Len’s head down until they were face to face. “Still with me?” His voice was wrecked, breathless and by god Len wanted to taste it so badly.

He pushed into Mick’s mouth, all bite and snarls. “Should be asking you.”

It had been more than a year since the last time they got to do this, not having the space or time or safety for it and neither would be able to last. Mick dug into Len’s underwear, pulling his cock free and Len lined himself up. They both groaned as their cocks slid into position against each other. Mick wrapped his hand around them, other clamped tightly on Len’s thigh, and Len braced his arms on Mick’s shoulder, his greater height giving him extra leverage. Then he began thrusting.

Fuck, he’d forgotten how good this felt. Mick’s strong hand and thick callouses smoothed over from constant glove-wear, his sturdy frame, always able to take whatever Len gave him, the way Mick watched Len’s cock move against his. He was enraptured and it drove Len a little crazy, being looked at like he was the fire that gave Mick peace of mind. Like he was amazing and sublime, some divine creature that couldn’t be defined with words just worship.

Len couldn’t take it, pushing back Mick’s head to capture his lips in another biting kiss. He tangled their hands together, pumping at their cocks until they spilled over, one after another and Len had to pull back to muffle a cry into Mick’s shoulder with his teeth. While Len caught his breath, Mick pulled him into another kiss. A soft one, gentle, almost tentative and Len was too weak to either stop from melting into it or the moan that came out. The moment he could feel his legs under him again, Len pulled back and tried not to burn the image of Mick into his memory.

He grabbed a stray bit of cloth to wipe himself off, tossing it to Mick after. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Mick’s voice was almost dreamy. Sex always left him a little bit stunned and subdued. It didn’t do as much for him as staring into the heart of fire for hours on end, but he’d been on edge for so long it’d at least keep him from snapping for a while longer.

Len pulled his clothes and gear back into place. “Get some rest. I’ll take first watch. Doubt Mardon’ll get much sleep around here, but tell the kid if he’s still up by the time my shift’s over, I’m knocking him out.”

“Sure, Cold,” Mick murmured, sealing his suit back up. He sounded more rundown than usual and briefly Len wanted to hold him, kiss him, promise him things would work out. But he shoved the moment away and Mick snapped his gear back into place and it was business as usual.


End file.
